"Hey, you Twitter ...."
Is what he asked at the bar, looking to the side at me. I misunderstood him. The music was loud. He slurred his pronunciation a bit, wiping beer foam from his lip. He didn’t come across as one who would ask what I thought he was asking, but who knows these days. I thought he found me attractive and was using some new code word to see if I also share his sexual preference; treating his desire as if it was another controlled substance. What all of us have learned to do these days and times. ‘Talken street’ has become our language with new words and slang's and grunts popping up every week, protecting us from each other and from what recently became illegal, or, just not ‘nice’ to say. And twitter is here to help, right?
“Uh, no thank you, I’m not ....
.... I’m not gay,” I answered quietly, using another code word, and probably slurring a few of my own words. “But thank you for the compliment, maybe next life,” I added jokingly, trying to keep everything ‘cool’ and easy floating, treading lightly on this touchy subject. One, like religion, politics, abortion, or the plight of hemp, I try to avoid during my Friday night Guinness outings. My one night for one pint, as I refer to it. But this night I should have had more, something I rarely do. I have a low threshold for beer, the bubbly blue-color cheer. I should have just nodded my head and acted drunker than what I was, which wouldn’t have been much of a stretch for me. I was half through with my pint, and, not to brag, I’ve done some extra work in a few films. I never had a speaking part, however, and I had no time to prepare for this scene.
“What the **** did you say? ...
...he blurted out, I heard the screech of his stool as he got closer; as if I wanted to smell his tobaccie beer brewed barf breath, (say that after a few) -and there's genuine hate in his bloodshot eyes. Twitter me timbers!
I said, "I haven’t played that game,” thinking faster than I thought I would. I was also surprised that he left it go at that, and sat back down. That was quick, My heart and I expected the worse, at least a fist in the face or the beginning actions to do so. That was fast, an easy oscar! Or was it my breath? He looked later, after he sat down, as if he was upset that I answered incorectly destroying his great expectations of putting his fist print on my face. He had his hopes up and I ‘up staged him.’
This ‘G’ word, code or not, was undoubtedly the fruit (the other code word) of all bar room brawls picked by the ‘bearded-up good buddies who doubt of their own sexuality.’ They need a valve to open, orr at least it was this one’s method in reaching his evening’s goal. To break someone’s face. (the other reason I choose, to shy from the booze)
“Oh, twitter, yea, I’ve been twittering,”
I bolstered over the bar so all could hear, in case anyone had picked up on that dangerous 'G' word. If I had a gruffer voice in my repertoire I would have used it.
“Have over 600 followers.” (My Twitter) But he didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on the game, on the tube, or pretended to. I guess I over did it. I guess that’s what happens when you know you’re winning. So I backed off. Had a gulp, my final one, and after I gathered my pad and pen, and pushed my tip across the bar closer so Sarah could reach it easier, I added, “I heard that Yoko Ono has 86,000 followers.”
He chuckled, but his eyes didn’t leave the game on the tube. No
doubt he was working on his own game. Another angle he could use for some poor
unsuspecting twitter sole. So I chuckled with him, easing out of my stool, and
away from him, “Hello I must be going,” I twittered myself, as I left
the place behind me until next weekend. Well, maybe the following weekend, or
so. Or so.
Keep your eye pealed
But watch out, fellow twitter follower, watch your words and watch your back. There could be more of these 'birds' out there tweeting around. Keep on the look-out. Scan your tweets tweeters and tweetess-es. They’re the falcon variety, than a mere harmless twitter bird. At the least these birds of a different feather will try to ‘poop’ on you like this guy did to me. His kind of social-networking is more like a ‘Trojan.’ full of negative viruses eager to invade your tweet space and put you in a world of pain - and he’s probably not alone. Twitter for bid! ....May the twitter be with you. ....Today is the first twitter of the rest of your life. ....Twitter on you crazy twitter-er. ....Take this twitter from my hand, grasshopper. .....What is the sound of one twitter twitting? ....What would twitter do? ....Twitter together right now, over me. ....